


No Plan

by panchostokes (badwolfrun)



Series: Nick/Greg Ficlets [11]
Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Genre: Angst, Bombs, Greg Sanders Whump, M/M, Nick Stokes Whump, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-01
Updated: 2019-06-01
Packaged: 2020-04-06 01:02:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19052098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badwolfrun/pseuds/panchostokes
Summary: Out of options, sitting on top of a bomb, Nick and Greg discuss their relationship and are reminded of past traumas as they are sitting ducks, with no plan.





	No Plan

**Author's Note:**

> from a "I wish you would write a fic where..." prompt on tumblr, set in season 14, during my headcanon "break-up" period for Nick and Greg.

“Kip would know what to do…” Nick muttered, more to himself, than to his partner. He wished he would wipe the sweat off of his face as he squinted down at the timer at his feet. His eyes were nearly glued shut, the digital numbers were blurry sticks.

“Kip?” Greg asked in a half-disgusted tone.

“Yeah, he helped me, Cath and Vartaan get out of that warehouse a few years back. Quick thinker, good humor…curly hair, cute smile..”

Greg heaved a loud sigh, louder than it needed to be, as he leaned back against the chair he was currently tied into. He felt the back of his head impact against Nick’s, and quickly moved his head away. 

“Ah, another ex.” 

“He wasn’t–that’s not–He’s not an ex! I barely knew the guy!” 

“Then why do you wish he was here?”

“Because he can diffuse  _bombs,_ Greg!” 

“You just had to say the ‘b’ word, didn’t you?”

“Hey–it could be worse.”

“Oh, well, sorry, guess I’m not used to sitting on a death trap for  _hours,_  waiting to explode.”

_It’s not exactly something you get used to._ Nick thought darkly to himself, though this time, he remained outwardly silent.

Riling up Greg wasn’t going to do anything to diffuse the situation they were in. Nothing would. Two men, tied against each other to chairs, a ticking bomb underneath them. Each of them with a timer at their feet, tick…tick…ticking until either the cavalry arrives…don’t. Neither man was a stranger to explosives, multiple experiences on both of their resumes, but that also didn’t help to ease the adrenaline surging their their veins, the hollow feeling in their chest, that everything could end in a flash and bang…the thought that they would not make it out of this, together.

“I’m sorry…I, uh…I’m–” Greg’s voice was quivering, his body was shaking–Nick could feel it on his back, which sent a shiver down his own spine.

“It’s okay,” Nick replied softly. How he wished he could just cup his hand on Greg’s cheek, rub his thumb up and down, telling him all of the things that he should have said two years ago…when did things go  _so wrong_ between them?

“Listen, Greg, I just…I just wanted to say…I’m sorry, for the way–”

“No. Not here. Not now.” 

“When, then? You’ve been dodging me, ever since–”

“I know. And  _I’m_ sorry, for that.”

“You don’t need to apologize–”

“Yes, I do. I wasn’t…I didn’t…I should have been more patient, with you, Nick. This situation is showing me…sometimes…it’s better to forget.”

“Nah, man, you–you gave me the kick in the ass I needed, to get better…For you.”

Nick sniffled, which served to spike up the pain in his swollen nose, a reminder, of what awaited him and the rest of his body if he tried to escape again. 

“I was in a bad place, for a while. A place worse than this…hellhole we’re trapped in, and the hole just got deeper when you and I, uh, parted ways. And I-I let myself be consumed by that darkness for a  _long_ time…I couldn’t even be there when Sara needed me–”

“ _Us.”_

_“–_ to help her with  _her_ break-up and it just…it dawned on me, after that…That I needed to get help. And I did–When I went to that ‘special training’ in Quantico–Cath helped me….she always does.”

They remained silent for a moment, before Greg started to laugh.

“Did she help you grow that beard?”

Nick smiled, and caught on to the contagious laughter of Greg Sanders.

“No, I managed to do that all on my own.”

“I dig it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

They continued to laugh, as they knocked their heads into each other accidentally. Greg conjured up all of the images of Nick’s smiling face that he could, mentally photo-shopping a beard onto the Texan’s chin, on the images of him that were popping up without a beard. How he wished he could see the real Nick’s smiling face in this moment, no matter how shattered it was out of the futile escape attempt that landed them both in this situation. Why did Nick have to go and try and be so brave…and so stupid?

As the laughter died down, Nick let out a brief groan. 

“How bad’s the pain?”

“On a scale of one to ten?”

“Mmhmm?”

“Maybe a…four? Been worse.”

_Liar._  

“I remember, when…When I was…Took a while for the stars to go away…Sometimes, when I blink, I still see them.”

The quiver returned to Greg’s voice, before turning to quiet sobs. A surge of anger rose up in Nick’s chest–how dare those bastards put them in this situation, put them back to back, unable to properly touch each other, to  _see_ each other…he wanted to scream. 

Tick. Tick. Tick. 

Nick’s breathing got quicker, deeper, suddenly the rope binding his arms to his body was  _too tight_. His arms were out of his control, starting to impulsively struggle against the bonds. He heard Greg cry out his name, wanted to respond, but just as he was struggling to get free…he began to struggle to  _breathe._

_“Christmas!”_ Nick shouted between gasps for air. “It was…Christmas…in Las Vegas…”

The room fell silent, minus the ticking, and Nick’s broken singing. 

“Singing, it, uh…it helped.” Nick told Greg once he counted backwards form ten. “Mostly in the, uh…the box, but also in the restaurant.”

“What was the song?”

“Ah, just a country song. You probably wouldn’t like it.”

“I like hearing you sing. Didn’t know you had such a good voice,  _Mr. Stokes_.”

Nick chuckled, the playfulness in Greg’s voice lightening the mood, however briefly, before his eyes gazed at the timer. He still couldn’t see the numbers, but saw that the minute timer was now down to the single digits. He strained to make out the number in his impaired vision, counting the seconds in his head, mentally, but the fear that it was all about to be over, made him realize, none of it mattered,  _really_ , as long as he was with Greg Sanders.

**Author's Note:**

> To be continued/expanded upon in the future...:)


End file.
